


Knowledge (And A Little Death)

by perfchan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Early canon, First Time, Frottage, Happy Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), POV Keith (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Size Difference, Unintentional Bondage, keith is shirosexual and this is the awakening, smut and humor, thats the only plot here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: Following an unexpected attack, Keith and Shiro wake up in a...situation?At least they're together.Very together.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 187
Kudos: 555





	1. Some Things Are Bound To Change

***

Keith slams back into consciousness the way a speeding hoverbike might meet a brick wall: fast, painful, and with no small amount of damage. 

Said damage includes the crack of his skull against a  _ very hard _ surface behind his head. 

Other than his head, Keith finds that he can’t move. His limbs are caught, his whole body feels weighed down, arms and legs bound to something solid. Firm. He’s pinned to the floor, lying on his side. 

“Ah!!” Keith hisses in pain, curling forward— only to smack the top of his head on something else. Hard. “Haa! What the—”

There’s a separate hiss of pain that echoes his own, except for this one is paired with a soft— but vehement—“Fuck,” 

“Shiro?” 

“Keith,” Shiro says, after a moment. “Glad you’re awake. I’d say that I’m happy to see that you’re okay, but, given the circumstances, that’s something of a stretch.” 

The words are rumbling and low. It takes Keith a moment to process why: the firm solid that is his forehead is now pressed up against is Shiro’s chest. 

“Wah-wh-what—” Keith scrambles to get away. Twisting, he throws his head back. And ends up smacking the top of his head on Shiro’s chin, for the second time. 

He can hear the sickening click of teeth coming together as the top of his head collides with Shiro’s jaw. Again. Shiro lets out a noise of pain. And swears. Again. “Watch it!” 

“Shit, sorry— Shiro are you okay?” 

Shiro tilts his head to the side, muscles flexing in his neck as he adjusts his jaw. This close, Keith can  _ feel _ him do it, the roll of his muscles, the way his chest rises as he inhales deep and holds it. 

They are bound together. 

Keith realizes this at the same time that Shiro lets out the sigh and says, 

“Yes Keith, I’m great. This is actually exactly how I intended to spend the evening.”

They are bound together. Chest to chest. Their legs are tied together at the ankles, and their wrists are tied together behind Shiro’s back, in such a way that Keith’s arms are looped around Shiro’s torso. Like that, they were shut into a small room (a closet?), apparently abandoned by their attackers. 

“What happened?” Keith asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he starts pulling again, trying to get loose. 

The restraints are tight. Keith tries them more methodically now, first his hands, then his feet. It’s not normal rope ( _ duh, _ Keith thinks,  _ why would extraterrestrials have normal rope? _ ); there’s a slight amount of give to the restraints, and they don’t cut into the skin. But they are absolutely tight enough that he can’t go anywhere. 

“Ugh!” He huffs out, slumping against Shiro’s chest. 

“Funny, I came to the same conclusion.” 

How does Shiro keep such a level head all the time?

“How are you so calm?” Keith asks. 

It’s out of his line of sight, but Keith can imagine the cutting slip of a smile that goes along with Shiro’s dry response: “Once you’ve endured one stint in alien captivity, you’ve basically endured them all. This is just another day at the office.” 

At Keith’s huff of non-amusement, Shiro continues: “I also may have had a minor panic attack while you were still unconscious.” 

“Shiro?!” 

“I’m fine, Keith. Let’s just figure this out together.” 

They’re on a planet called Dor. The castleship originally landed here to restock on some element called  _ suscite  _ that is apparently integral to the ship’s targeted oovujaver drive. (Or so Keith’s been told. He’s not one hundred percent on the finer details of ancient Altean tech. Anyways,) The team lands on Dor, only to find that they just so happened to arrive on the day of the Dorish’s Special Rock Ceremony (It has another name, but again, Keith was not and is not overly concerned about the details). After one meeting with the planet’s leaders, during which they were first told about said special rock, Allura was practically tripping over herself to offer Voltron’s assistance.

So they form Voltron and grab the special rock from the bottom of a special ditch in the ground. This is where it gets complicated. 

Turns out, the special rock _ is _ the suscite. So that’s a problem. 

Cue the debate about what to do next. The Dorish don’t use this particular rock except for every one thousand years and the castleship needs it  _ now.  _

“We already have it. Let’s just take it and leave.” Keith remembers saying. 

That was the wrong thing to say. 

Mostly because it was somehow broadcast from his comm in the Red Lion to the entire population of planet Dor. All the important people, at least.They got mad. 

But Allura (being Allura) managed to smooth things over with the council members. Voltron delivered the suscite to the ceremony. The Dorish were happy. They even threw a party in celebration. 

“We don’t  _ need _ a party. We  _ need _ the rock.” Keith remembers saying. 

That also must have been the wrong thing to say. 

It must have, because just as the party was coming to a close— right when Team Voltron started to let their guard down— they were ambushed. The Dorish are a race of short, mauve-skinned aliens with huge, bushy eyebrows and wide mouths. They didn’t seem like much of a threat. But they were fast; they came from all sides, overpowering the paladins before they even had the chance to draw their bayards. And now he and Shiro are locked in a closet. 

“I  _ knew _ we couldn’t trust those guys.” Keith swears, hot, into Shiro’s pectorals. “We should have just taken the damn rock when we had it.” 

Shiro shifts, moving his arms slightly. His fingers wiggle against Keith’s and when he blows out a sigh, it feels warm on the top of Keith’s head. “You may be right.” 

“Shiro?” Keith leans back as far as he can with the restraints. His arms are locked around Shiro, so he can’t get too far, but. He tries to adjust his shoulders enough to look into Shiro’s face. He’s bound too closely to make eye contact, but he still reassures Shiro: “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of this.” 

Shiro is looking straight ahead, not down at Keith’s upturned face. He draws in a short breath. His voice is slightly uneven as he agrees. “Y-yeah. Yes. What’s the strategy?” 

“Activate your arm.” Keith says immediately. It should be able to cut through whatever material of which the restraints are made without issue. 

“You’d lose your hand.” Shiro replies. He turns his wrist to demonstrate: Keith’s wrist is flush against his. “As much fun as the amputee club is, I’m not going to be the one to give you a membership, Keith.” 

Keith weighs his options, forehead resting just below the hollow of Shiro’s neck. This close, he smells nice— a combination of sweat, and the strange spicy-ness of Altean aftershave, and the lingering acrid fumes from the fuel units inside Black that Shiro always insists on manually adjusting prior to flight. The combination is a comforting smell, uniquely Shiro, and Keith catches himself tilting his head to get a better inhale before he realizes what he’s doing.  _ The fact that Shiro smells so good doesn’t get us untied, _ he reminds himself.  _ Focus. _ He frowns, thinking about his left hand and whether or not he  _ really _ needs it (he’s ambidextrous, with his sword and everything else), when he remembers: 

“What about my knife?” They weren’t in their paladin armor when they were ambushed. But Keith never goes anywhere without his blade. He moves even closer to Shiro’s body, tucking his head under Shiro’s chin, so that Shiro can look down Keith’s back. “Did they take it?” 

Shiro’s voice is forced. “No.” He coughs. “No. I mean, yes. Yes they took it.” 

“Oh.” Keith nibbles on his lip, thinking. 

Keith shifts. His legs are tied to Shiro’s at the ankles, but since Shiro is the taller one, he’s able to slightly bend at least. He tests it to see how much and one of his thighs slips between Shiro’s knees. 

“My boots!” Keith realizes. 

“What about them?” Shiro’s voice is weak. 

He shouldn’t sound so out of breath when they’re just lying here. “Are you sure you’re okay? Shiro?” Keith straightens his legs out and leans back again. Like before, the action makes his hips tilt forward slightly, and pulls Shiro’s waist into his. 

“Great. I’m great.” Shiro forces out. “What about your boots?” 

“They’re a little big for me,” Keith confesses. Way back before, well,  _ everything _ , he picked them up from a second-hand place outside of Phoenix. It wasn’t like there were multiple sizes to choose from. But he thought they were cool, the way they matched his jacket. That’s why he bought them, despite the too-big size. He hoped to grow into them, but seems like that won’t happen. 

“Maybe I can slip my foot out?” Keith muses, shifting his legs. He wiggles. 

Shiro makes a soft noise— a quickly aborted gasp— and pulls away. As far away as he can, given that Keith is literally tied to him. 

“Shiro?” Shiro feels stiff, like all of his muscles are tense. This close, Keith can feel it in his arms and chest, even in his stomach and legs. His breath is shallow, like he’s clenching his teeth. Shiro is tightly wound. Maybe he heard their attackers coming back?

“Nothing,” Shiro says, too quick. “Just. Nevermind. Keep going, Keith.” 

Keith bites his lip, brow furrowed in concentration. The only sound is the shuffling squeak of the leather and the muffled noise that fabric makes when rubbed together. Keith’s jeans against Shiro’s pants. 

It’s not as easy as it sounds. The tie around their ankles is fairly tight, and it’s difficult to get any traction to tug his foot out of the boot. But, 

“Got it!” Keith proclaims, finally sliding one foot out of his boot. He lifts his leg, now free, to demonstrate. Luckily he’s flexible. His ankle is rubbed raw, but he’s otherwise intact. What to do from here…

“Maybe I can…” Keith muses, hooking his newly freed leg around Shiro’s hip and trying to—

“Keith!” 

“Yeah?” 

Shiro pauses, audibly wets his lips. Takes a breath. “Maybe work on the other foot instead of...whatever you’re doing.” 

“Oh. Sure.” 

With the help of one foot free, the other slides out of his boot with much greater ease. 

“Now what?” Keith asks. Because their arms are still bound together, it would be difficult, but maybe he can somehow make it to his feet and carry Shiro to safety? He tries to picture how it would work…

“If we can get into a seated position, we can work on our hands.” Shiro decides. His arm has been pinned to the floor— it must be numb by now, even worse than Keith’s is from being caught around Shiro’s body. 

Keith shifts, attempting to sit up, but it’s difficult to coordinate the motion with Shiro. And then he realizes: “Turn me onto my back and then you sit up from there.” 

Shiro swallows. Keith can hear the click in his throat. 

“C’mon, already,” Keith says. Now that he’s thought about Shiro’s shoulder being numb, he feels bad about it. And they should get free as fast as possible— who knows when the attackers could return? “We both know you’re twice my size.” 

“We do?” Shiro’s voice sounds far away. 

Keith laughs. “Yeah, of course, Shiro. Plus you have like, four times the muscle mass probably. You can top me, easy.” 

The noise Shiro makes is garbled. “ _ What? _ ”

“Like, get on top. Like, flip me?” 

A moment passes. Keith feels the rise and fall of Shiro’s chest in front of him. A deep inhale. A heavy exhale. 

_ “God.”  _ Shiro says, under his breath. Like it’s just to himself. “Okay. Hang on, Keith.” Shiro’s hands clench into fists behind his back as he steels himself. 

“Yessir.” Keith wraps his legs around Shiro’s waist. 

As expected, Shiro flips Keith onto his back in one smooth motion. His knees are now on the floor and Keith is clinging to his chest. 

Unexpected: the noise that Shiro makes directly after he does so. At the same time that his hips rut into Keith’s. 

It’s a groan. Involuntary. Quiet. 

But Keith is pressed up against Shiro’s chest and Shiro’s mouth is practically next to his ear. So.

He hears it. 

Keith tightens his legs around Shiro’s waist. Shiro’s weight settles over top of Keith as he tries to reposition them— Keith’s shoulders now against the ground, Shiro’s thighs under his ass. His movement stutters, and he presses Keith down into the floor, 

“Ahn,” 

Another groan escapes, a hitch of breath. More obvious, more pronounced than the first time. Shiro’s breath is hot on the back of Keith’s neck. Keith can feel the muscles ripple under his skin, like he’s holding back a full body shudder. 

“Shiro?” 

Shiro freezes over top of Keith. 

And then he is moving backwards— scrambling, except for Shiro never scrambles, he’s not the type of man who scrambles— he’s moving backwards, and then, somehow, Shiro is sitting and Keith is sat squarely in his lap. 

“Keith—I,” 

“Are you okay?” Keith asks, rolling his shoulder. The arm that was compressed has pins and needles now. He can only imagine that Shiro’s arm feels worse. 

“I— yes? Are you? I shouldn’t ha—” Shiro stops mid-thought. “W-what are you doing?” 

Keith continues adjusting to their new position; he has to spread his thighs pretty far apart to span Shiro’s waist. He does so, sliding in close so that his chest is flush against Shiro’s. From there, he can hook his chin over Shiro’s broad shoulders and work on undoing their hands, still tied together behind Shiro’s back. 

At Shiro’s question, he pauses. “I’m going to get our hands free now. Don’t worry, Shiro.” 

“Keith.” 

Keith stretches to sit up straighter, pulling Shiro against him. Like he thought, the restraints aren’t exactly Earth rope. But they aren’t some kind of mysterious alien magic shit either. He can do this. He just needs, 

“Keith.” 

Keith scoots as close as he can, slotting his body fully against Shiro’s, thighs bracketing his waist, legs bend so that his knees are on the ground on either side of Shiro’s hips. He sits up slight, putting more weight on his knees. The action makes him rub against Shiro’s solid weight. 

Almost got it...

“Ke-ith,” Shiro’s voice is plaintive. 

He stops. 

Shiro’s breathing is labored. He has his face turned to the side, away from Keith. The lighting in this closet is low, but it is not so dark that Keith cannot see the minute movement of Shiro’s jaw, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“Just. Give me a minute.” Shiro finally says, his voice low. 

_ A minute for what? _ Keith is about to ask, except. He moves back, adjusting his position in Shiro’s lap, and, 

That is, 

_ Oh. _

Shiro is, 

Shiro is hard. 

Keith blinks. Opens his mouth. Promptly closes it. Shiro is, 

Shiro lets out a breath through his nose. He inhales deeply, deep enough that Keith goes with him as his chest rises. 

They’re so, so close, and Shiro is hard. 

He’s big. 

(And of course, Keith knew. Gym shorts and the skin tight undersuits of the paladin armor only leave so much to the imagination. But Keith tries his best to keep his eyes above waist level, mostly. He doesn’t want to be the perv who is constantly checking out his best friend’s package,)

(But it’s one thing to know, and another to  _ know. _ To be able to  _ feel _ Shiro’s cock, thick and long and  _ hard, _ against his thigh,

So much, 

Just thin layers of fabric between them, 

And Shiro is,) 

“—eith,” 

“Uh.” Keith realizes that he has no idea what Shiro just said. If he said anything. “Um. Yes?” 

Shiro sighs and the slight motion sends Keith forward in his lap, just a bit. It’s enough to have them both inhale, sharp, in unison. 

“How close are we to being untied?” Shiro asks. Again. It sounds like he’s getting the words out through sheer force of will. 

“Uhhh…” Keith is suddenly only able to hold one thought in his brain and that is the idea that Shiro’s dick is pressed into his thigh. 

His own blood is rushing in his ears now, headed south faster and with greater ferocity than it ever has before. His jeans are getting more uncomfortable by the minute and Shiro can probably tell, and  _ Shiro is hard,  _

Right. Shiro needs him to focus. 

Keith closes his eyes, tries to steady his racing heart. “I think.” He leans forward again, 

Shiro’s breath hitches, 

“IthinkIalmosthaveit,” Keith says all in a rush, hunching his shoulders. He looks resolutely down at their hands. Shiro’s body is hot underneath his. 

He does not almost have it. 

Shiro’s hands clench into fists. “Keith. I. I’m— ” 

“Just let me do this, Shiro.” Keith grits out. Shiro’s hands are much bigger than his, because, 

Shiro is big, 

Keith fumbles. Shiro’s hands are much bigger than his, okay, and in this situation, it works to their advantage. If Keith twists his wrist just so…

“Got it!” Keith proclaims, tugging one hand free. The motion makes him rise, and then come back down in Shiro’s lap. He bounces in Shiro’s lap, and Shiro whines. 

He  _ whines. _ A low, soft, needy noise. A noise that goes straight to Keith’s dick. 

“Shiro,” Keith pants. 

With one hand free, there’s enough distance between them now that Shiro can look up into Keith’s face. 

And Keith has never seen Shiro look like this. 

He looks up at Keith, gaze unfocused, black pupils fat over grayblue. Jaw slack, mouth just slightly open. Dark brows pull together as he makes a visible effort to keep himself still under Keith. His breath is heavy with the effort. 

The tips of his ears are red and the color is high in his cheeks, down his neck. The scar on his nose looks white against the flush and it’s so pretty that Keith wants to touch it. 

Keith lifts his newly freed hand. “S-Shiro,” he breathes, 

Shiro bites his lip and the tips of his canines caught in that soft flesh is the single most erotic thing that Keith has ever seen. 

This is Shiro  _ wanting. _

This is Shiro turned on. 

This is what Shiro would look like if…

“Shiro,” Keith says again, placing his hand not on Shiro’s scar but on the cords of his neck, just under Shiro’s jaw. The steady thump of Shiro’s pulse beats hard against Keith’s palm. His eyes flutter closed, his throat shutters. He tilts his head back, as if surrendering to the situation. His skin is so hot under Keith’s fingertips. 

Keith repeats the motion from before— rubbing himself against Shiro— except for now, the intent is wholly changed. Except for now, he’s obviously hard too, unmistakable as his crotch moves over Shiro’s abs. 

Shiro inhales, sharp, eyes flying open, 

It’s Shiro who lifts his hips now, bucking up into Keith’s spread legs. Keith grinds down, answering the gesture on instinct alone. Keith bends down ‘til his forehead is touching Shiro’s, ‘til their noses brush, ‘til the heady exhale on Keith’s mouth is some combination from both of their lungs. 

“Keith,” Shiro groans. Shiro’s never said his name like that before. 

Keith repeats the grind, low in Shiro’s lap, as close as he can get. As close as they’ve been for the past however many dobashes, tied up alone in this closed space. He concentrates on it, the movement, and how Shiro reacts— the motion of his hips, the wet sound of his mouth parted, the little sounds that Keith has never heard before, not quite his name but so, so close. 

“Shiro, I want, can I,” the request is half-way out of Keith before he realizes what he’s asking, 

In response, Shiro tenses, his shoulders and chest taught with effort, and then there’s a snap: the restraints are broken. 

Arms free, Shiro’s hands come to rest on Keith’s hips. Shiro’s hands— large enough to come close to encircling Keith’s waist in full— press Keith into Shiro’s lap, holding him down, 

“Keith,” Shiro shudders underneath him, 

The lights flick on. 

Shiro and Keith freeze. 

“So, actually,” a nervous laugh from one of the Dorians, “We left the red and black paladins, er, secured in here,” 

“Very secure, very safe,” another one adds. 

“How kind of you!” Allura agrees in her most ingratiating ‘diplomatic’ voice. 

Suddenly Keith is no longer in Shiro’s lap because Shiro is standing. He pulls Keith to a standing position next to him. His touch is like a brand on Keith’s arm, too tight, and then not at all. He drops his grip. 

The door opens. 

“Shiro, Keith!” Allura is obviously taken aback to find them standing there in the closet. She makes an effort to hide her surprise. “Lovely to see you here. So!” She smiles, manic, clearly trying to convey something without words. Keith has no idea what that something might be. “Would you believe that there was an absurd misunderstanding? And that the Umsha’r Aought,” 

Yeah, now Keith remembers, that’s what the special rock ceremony-ritual-thing was called, 

“The Umsha’r Aought actually foretold our coming!” Allura claps her hands, and her smile gets wider, if that’s possible. “So the wonderful people of Dor actually wanted to give us the suscite all along!” 

“That’s...great.” Shiro says in a voice that does not sound like it is great at all. “Glad to hear it.” 

Keith frowns. He looks up at Shiro. 

Who is pointedly looking over Allura’s shoulder and not at Keith. 

“Debriefing!” Shiro says, unnaturally loud. He clears his throat. “I’ll— I need to prepare— Allura, leaders of Dor. Thank you. For. Well. I’m sure that you can handle—from here, I mean. Yes. Right. I’ll see you and the rest of the team for the mission’s debrief.” 

And then he ducks out of the closet and walks down the hall. 

Keith picks his boots up off the floor. 

One of the Dorians makes the mistake of catching his glance. Keith hasn’t forgotten about the attack. The alien gives a little yelp and scurries away. 

Allura looks concerned, but Keith ignores her. He crosses his arms. Tries to look as if his heart isn’t beating so fast that it could explode out of his chest into a million gorey pieces all over the ground of the special rock planet. He might be dying. 

What  _ was _ that?

***


	2. Keith, Out of the Closet

***

With the suscite acquired, and the castleship now back in working order, the paladins of Voltron depart from planet Dor. Keith makes a beeline for his bedroom. 

Normally, he’d run a set of standard cool down diagnostics on Red. Go over the flight logs while the mission is still fresh in his mind. Reset the bayard dock following combat. Make sure that the quintessence coupling units are in their proper alignment. Wipe down her paws. There’s something calming in the routine—all the standard upkeep of a sentient alien spacecraft that has somehow become second nature over the past few phoebs— but Red is the last thing on his mind at the moment. 

He’s out of the lion’s hanger and down the hall before the other paladins even touch down in the castleship. Before Coran has the chance to call them up to dinner for the ‘goo du jour’ (Hunk calls it that sometimes; Keith doesn’t know if the fancy words mean something special or not because it all seems like the same green stuff to him. Regardless,). Before Allura summons them to a We-Simply-Must-Improve-at-Diplomatic-Relations Meeting. Before Shiro can, 

Before Shiro, 

“Shiro,” Keith intones under his breath as he makes his way through the winding halls of the castleship to the paladin barracks. The walk has never seemed to take this long before. The entire return flight from Dor was excruciating— Keith’s skin feels like it’s on fire,  _ burning, _ his clothes are stifling, his heart won’t stop thrashing around in his chest. 

He has his fists clenched tight as he walks down the hall, so tight that by the time he opens the door to his bedroom, his knuckles are blanched white with the effort. He manages to input the code to unlock his door— on the second try, but— and then finally, finally slips inside. 

“Fuck,” Keith swears, kicking off one of his boots, as his back hits the door sliding closed behind him. He has his belt undone then, his jeans unbuttoned in the next breath, and yes, yes, his dick in hand. “Fuck,” 

He’s fully hard again in a couple strokes: frantic, tight movements. Thoughtless. Desperate. Fuck. He  _ needs _ this.  _ Now. _ He doesn’t even bother to take off his fingerless gloves. He’s usually careful about keeping his things as nice as possible— a carry-over from most of his possessions being hand-me-downs— but right now the soft leather on his palms can get dirty. Right now the gloves over his hands do nothing but call to mind the  _ dark fabric of Shiro’s pants and how it looked tented over his cock _ . 

“Fuck, fu-” Keith squeezes his eyes shut, shoulders hunched, body bowed as release rips through him. 

He comes hard and fast, making a mess over his fingers and his jeans, which he still has bunched around his thighs. He continues to stroke himself through it, mind blank, jaw locked, smearing cum over himself until the fire in his belly has tempered to a smolder, and his pulse in his ears has quieted to a steady rush. 

He heaves in a breath. Exhales. His hand drops to hang limp at his side. The back of his head hits the door.

“Eughhh,” He lets his body slide down the door as he groans. Except, the noise is less of a groan and more of a guttural reaction to everything that’s happened in the past few varga. 

What  _ was _ that? 

( _ That  _ was his real-time reaction to being in closest proximity to his unwittingly aroused best friend thanks to an intergalactic incident gone horribly wrong.) 

Now sitting on the floor with his back against the door, Keith curls to rest his head in his hands and stares, wide-eyed, into the universe-shattering-realization that  _ that actually happened.  _ He and Shiro were, actually...like that. Physically. Did that. With their bodies. Just now. He felt Shiro’s  _ dick _ against his  _ thigh. _ And there was the  _ grinding _ , with the  _ hips _ , and Shiro’s hands on his waist, and their mouths were so close, 

His eyes flutter shut, 

And Shiro  _ wanted _ , 

Keith swallows. 

He scrunches his hands into his hair and pulls. Hard.  _ “What.” _

He rises to his feet and realizes that he still has one boot on and that there is now cum smeared and drying across his forehead and into his hair. “I gotta shower,” he mutters to no one, feeling strangely unsteady as he unsnaps the buttons on his gloves and tosses them in the direction of the cubby at the top of his bunk. He unclips his knife (it was returned to him by a very meek, very apologetic cluster of Dorians), sets it on his pillow, and crosses the room to enter his en suite. 

His tee shirt goes over his head and he peels the jeans from his legs, shimmies out of his underwear, throws his red-and-white paladin-color-coded socks into the laundry chute. Steps into the shower, turns the taps to ‘on,’ reaches for the shampoo, 

The welts around his ankles burn as the water runs down his legs. Not enough to truly hurt, but enough of a burn to remind Keith that they’re there. He inspects those bruises and the marred skin around his wrists under the bright aquamarine light of the bathroom. He did a fair bit of twisting against the restraints. 

He pauses, realizing: 

Shiro must have the same evidence left on his skin.

The thought causes a ripple of concern in Keith’s chest. Lost in thought, Keith squeezes the shampoo bottle— nothing comes out. Shiro’s been through so much, it was probably horrific for him to wake up restrained. Suddenly angry, Keith smacks the bottle against the wall. Hard. Shiro shouldn’t have had to go through that. He smacks the bottle again. Harder. The bar of soap— the only other thing that Keith keeps in the shower— goes rocketing to the floor thanks to the violence with the shampoo bottle. Keith grumbles. Damn tiny shower. Damn special rock planet. But, at least Keith was there to help free Shiro, he decides, now satisfied as the soap is retrieved and a big dollop of gooey green shampoo squirts easily into his palm. 

Although, Shiro left so quickly, Keith didn’t even really get the chance to see if he  _ was _ okay. 

Keith frowns, scrubbing his hair into a lather. Wait. He  _ is _ okay, right? Shiro had  _ better _ be okay...Shiro mentioned working on the mission’s debrief, that’s why he left so quickly. He works too hard. Hopefully by now, he’s finished that. Hopefully he’s taking the rest of the night off. He deserves it. 

Makes sense that he’d want to clean up, too, Keith thinks, dipping under the shower head. Huh. Actually. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine that Shiro might be showering right now, too. At this very moment. 

Huh.

Keith pauses, water streaming over his head, wet hair flat against his head, covering his face. 

Shiro’d be undressed, then. Because, Keith scoffs,  _ duh.  _ You don’t wear clothes in the shower. 

Keith flips his hair, running a hand through it to get it all swept back off his forehead, 

He reaches for the once-renegade bar of soap. Even Takashi “The Galaxy Garrison’s Goldenest Golden Boy” Shirogane must be buck-naked to wash. Weird that Keith has never thought about it before. Weird that he’s thinking about it now. 

Maybe just because Keith is so accustomed to seeing Shiro so put together. Steady, collected. In control. 

But. 

Keith swipes the bar over his chest, half-heartedly. 

Not today, he wasn’t… 

The image of Shiro, undone, rises in Keith’s mind. Shiro was looking up at Keith. Hair falling across his forehead, out of place. The glazed over look in his eyes— so unlike Shiro. Keith’s hands place the bar of soap back in it’s spot of their own accord. One— his right hand, the one that was against Shiro’s throat not so long ago— trails down his stomach. He’s getting hard again. 

Shiro. Shiro looked at him like that. At Keith. 

Keith remembers Shiro biting his lip— the noise he made, in the back of his throat, the motion of it as he swallowed, the way his jaw trembled as he fought for composure. Shit, Shiro. Keith wraps his hand around his cock. Tugs, less frenzied than before, now almost lazy with it, as he breathes in deep the hot humidity and remembers how Shiro looked underneath him. 

Because...Shiro has  _ always _ been so effortlessly put together. That was one of Keith’s very first impressions of him: Shiro is the type of person who always seems composed. Clean. It was mystifying to Keith, the way his clothes never looked worn, boots never scuffed, hair always in place. The day he got Keith out of juvie, the goddamn buttons on his uniform jacket were gleaming in the beat of the Phoenix sun. Keith looked up at him, and almost ( _ almost _ ) resented him for it. It’s hard to resent someone who is so endlessly good, he came to find out, but even so, he hasn’t forgotten those shiny buttons. 

Keith remembers other things too, like a little brush that Shiro kept next to the liquid soap on the sink to clean the grime from piloting out from underneath his fingernails. Keith remembers picking it up, the first time he was in Shiro’s Garrison-adjacent apartment, and thinking that he didn’t even know they made brushes for that. 

The easy back and forth that Shiro had with other students and the professors, and even the officers ranked higher than him. An enviable skill— to always know what to say. But, Keith remembers, Shiro always made silences easy too. 

The cologne that Shiro used to wear, back then, and how it made Keith want to linger in every embrace. 

That cologne is long gone, but it doesn’t seem like much of a loss. Pressed into Shiro’s chest, Keith was close enough to Shiro today to decide as much: the smell of sweat on his skin, and the Altean aftershave he uses now, and the complex way that the interior of Black lingers in his clothes. Keith lets out a groan, the circle of his hand slick around his cock, now tighter than before. He increases his pace, fist around his cockhead, dragging down his shaft, back again. His other hand touches his nipple, rolls his balls, teasing himself, thinking about Shiro. How he smelled good. 

How he looked like that.  _ Wanting. _ Undone. 

Shiro looked good underneath him. The realization makes Keith inhale, sharp and fast. Fuck, he looked good. He always looks good, but this….this was different. Keith quickens his pace, the slick sound of his hand around his cock bouncing off the walls of the tiny shower cubicle. 

Even as a paladin, Shiro never seems to get mussed during battle. He exits the black lion, jumps effortless down onto the tarmac, unclips his helmet, pulls it off, smiles— perfect. Keith has often thought that it would be nice to be able to snap a picture of Shiro just then. Draw it— except for he’d need more than just the one sketchbook he left back in Pop’s cabin on Earth. Shiro always looks picture perfect: at breakfast, after workouts, during the most boring of diplomatic meetings. Keith would fill up so many notebooks.

He doesn’t need a drawing or a photo for today’s Shiro, though. 

Shiro’s mouth fell open when Keith rocked their hips together, Keith remembers abruptly. His eyes closed and his mouth fell open, 

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” Keith imagines how Shiro could look,  _ might  _ look right now, right now in his own shower, just paces down the hall. He might be touching himself too, Keith imagines. He might be making that same face again. He might be biting his lip, trying not to come, 

Keith swears, pausing his own stroke. He curls his hand around the base of his cock, holding himself, the other in a fist over his head as he leans forward against the cool tile. 

No matter the situation, Shiro is always dependable. On top of it. 

But, to see him like that. That was a side of Shiro that Keith has never seen before. 

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, fucking into his fist, slow and steady. He gets bolder with it, pictures Shiro in the shower, his thick cock in his hand— bigger than Keith’s hand, much bigger— and how he must look right now, hair wet and out of place, that pretty flush on his skin, bruising his lip with the effort of keeping quiet in the paladin barracks. 

He pictures Shiro desperate. The muscles in his back and chest tight as his arm jerks. Chasing release. Messy. Whining. Fucking into his hand, body taut with effort, 

Fuck, Keith is close, 

Shiro’s teeth caught on his bottom lip, 

His head tipped back, 

Saying Keith’s name, 

A gasp escapes from Keith’s mouth and he’s coming, hotter than the steam, or the water down his back. He bites down, somehow so winded that he makes a concentrated effort to steady his breath as his release is washed down his thigh and into the drain at his feet. 

*

He can’t stop thinking about it. 

Even after his shower is finished. He doesn’t bother with anything other than underwear for the getting dressed part of his routine. No point, not right now anyways. He checks the comm for any new messages. There are none. He has a few rations squirrelled away, always, just in case; some of these are his supper as he officially decides against leaving the quiet of his room for the night. He munches on the dried….whatever-it-is, thoughts cycling between the events from earlier today and Shiro in general. He cleans his knife and rinses out his gloves. The gloves he sets by the sink to dry. 

It’s late, castleship time. Keith and the other paladins likely have a full day tomorrow (now that they’ve left Dor, who knows what they’ll be doing? Definitely not Keith). He should sleep. He lies down. 

But the buzz under his skin won’t settle. He twists atop gray sheets and thinks about Shiro’s voice rumbling through his chest, and how he said Keith’s name, and shit, fuck, 

Keith is getting hard again. 

_ He can’t stop thinking about it.  _

Shiro. Underneath him. 

Almost annoyed, Keith rucks the blanket to one side and roots around in the cubby at the head of his bunk. Finds a mostly full bottle in the back. 

This isn’t like him. 

Never has he been unable to settle himself like this. Felt so unsatisfied after jerking off. Twice. 

He’s not horny like this. Never manufactured a fantasy about someone or something that got him riled up like this. Definitely not porn. In fact, porn— from the first he stumbled upon, watched with the volume turned down to minimum on the Home’s shared computer, to the freaky alien stuff that Lance tried to show him last week— porn has barely ever held his interest. 

“Ke-eith,” the broken way Shiro said his name. Keith shudders. He flicks the top of the lube bottle open with his teeth, one hand working at getting his tighty whities off his hips and down his legs. 

The lube is cold in his palm, but against his skin it soon warms. 

He tries to take his time. Again, it’s unlike him. Usually he jerks off in the shower, perfunctory, without much thought. It’s less of a fantasy or indulgence and more of a bodily need. Sometimes, rarely, he’ll break habit and rub one out at night if he’s too key-ed up to fall asleep. It usually helps. But he’s lived in too many shared bedrooms, barracks, and thin-walled spacecraft to ever truly luxuriate in the action. 

And he’s never wanted to. Truthfully, Keith always thought it was a little weird how so many guys seem so obsessed with getting their rocks off. Some dudes, it seems like that’s all they care about. He never got it, so he figured, maybe he was the weird one. 

But tonight, 

He’s lying on his back, slow with it as he lets his hands wander. From his cock— slick and hard against his stomach now— to his balls, to his inner thighs. Circling his hole, teasing. 

Impatient. 

He presses a finger in, stretching, 

Shiro was so big. 

The thought makes heat jolt through him, and, truthfully, it’s only due to his previous orgasms that he doesn’t come again on the spot. He shudders out a breath, sinking deeper inside, lifting his hips off the sheets. Shiro was  _ so _ big. Thick, long, 

He’d be pretty, Keith realizes. His cock. Handsome to look at, just like the rest of him. 

“Shiro,” he breaths, getting used to the intrusion. Making himself go slow, like Shiro is watching him, like he’s trying to be good. For Shiro, he’s always good. He always tries. He closes his eyes. Steadies his resolve. Patience yields. Focus. 

Shiro’s ragged breath down his back, the heat of his skin, 

Mouth drawn, utterly focused, Keith spreads his legs wider. Adds another finger. A bead of pre slips from his slit onto his stomach. 

“Ahn,” a noise slips out as Keith continues to fuck himself on his fingers. “Shiro. M’good, feels good,” he adds, head dropping to the sheets, even as his hips buck forward, searching for friction. He knows Shiro isn’t here with him, but if he was—shit,  _ fuck _ , if he was— Shiro expects communication. Shiro would want feedback. Shiro’s hands are big. He’s so good. Maybe he’d be worried about hurting Keith. About going too fast, 

“More,” Keith whines, adding a third. Shiro,  _ please _ , he can take it. He wants more. Stretching, pushing his fingers in and out, tiny huffs of breath accompanying the movement. He can’t get the angle right by himself. 

Frustrated, but by no means giving up, Keith draws his fingers out. Changes position. He rises to his knees. 

Pictures the way that Shiro was beneath him. How far apart he had to spread his knees to accommodate Shiro’s hips. First, he jerks himself, hand loose over his cock, picturing Shiro’s expression, remembering what it was like to rub himself against Shiro’s body. His firm chest and abs, how it felt to grind into his hips and feel his cock strained in his pants. 

He fingers himself again, then, half twisting his body to get as much as he can. Three fingers— not the stretch he wants but, 

“Fuck, there,” he groans, hitting that spot, still wishing it was more, 

He fucks himself, dripping lube down his wrist, pre onto his stomach, down to the vee of his hips. He bends, arms trembling with the effort, hair falling into his face as he mindlessly searches for friction against his cock. He finds it against a pillow, slots that between his legs. Remembers how it felt to have Shiro’s hands on him, heavy and big, holding him, guiding him. 

“Shiro,” Keith pants, open mouthed, 

Coming, 

Over the pillow and the sheets, body taut, mouth caught in a wordless gasp of Shiro’s name. It seems like he comes forever, so much, body trembling with the effort, and mind caught in the looped sound of Shiro groaning his name. 

He pulls his fingers out. Feels shaky on his knees as he collapses, rolling over to the clean(er) side of the bed. His chest is heaving. His dick, still twitching, blurts out another bit of cum. 

Shit. 

That was. 

That was.

Fuck. 

That was so good. 

Keith grabs some tissues, giving himself a quick clean up before tossing them aside. He’ll worry about the rest in the morning. 

Sleep comes easy then, like it usually does. (Normally, as soon as his head hits the pillow:  _ Lights out. _ ) As Keith drifts off, finally relaxed, he has the thought that the only thing he’s missing now is the warm weight of Shiro’s arms around him. He hopes that Shiro is sleeping well. 

*

There’s two knocks at the door. A hesitant third. 

“Keith?” 

Keith opens his eyes. He’s an early riser-then take a nap midday-kind of guy, but it seems like today he might have slept in. His body feels heavy and sated in a way that it usually doesn’t. He stretches out over the bed, toes fanning, arms over his head, luxuriating in the feeling. His eyes flutter shut. He could definitely fall back asleep, 

“Keith?” 

Keith’s head snaps up. 

“Okay, um, well, so I’m going to assume that you’re dead. So, coming in. Like, right now. If you’re not dead, can you like, not kill me?” Hunk’s voice warbles through the door as he continues to ramble, “I know you have at least one knife in reach, or maybe probably more, but,” 

The door slides open, 

Keith scrambles out of bed, dives for the floor in the general direction (he hopes) of his underwear. “Hunk!!!” 

“Ah!!” Hunk’s hands fly over his eyes. Inexplicably, he steps further  _ into _ the room. The door slides shut behind him. Latches again with a gentle press. 

“Oh, duuuuude.” Hunk comments from behind his hands. 

Keith pulls his underwear on. Shoots Hunk a dirty look. “Yes? Hunk? What is it?” 

One hand still over his eyes, Hunk waves the other. “I’m not gonna comment on your personal time, but man maybe don’t open the door if you’ve got all that going on. Like, really, dude, I mean, c’mon. I’m not here to shame you, it’s a normal, healthy thing, but you could at least—

“ _ You _ opened the door on  _ me _ !!” Keith scowls. What’s the point of the doors having combinations on them in the first place, when Hunk made it his business to know them all? “And all what going on?” He hunches his shoulders. Mumbles. “Was just sleeping.” 

Hunk peeks between his fingers. “Yeah, no, the stale jizz smell and the lube and the tissues and the nudity, all totally overlookable, okay, sure,” 

Keith groans. 

“I mean, with Lance, yep, I expect it. I always expect it, ever since that one time on Arcel-14.” Hunk pauses, a harrowed, faraway look drifting across his face. “Anyways,” 

“Is there something you need?” Keith interrupts. He crosses his arms over his bare chest and tries to look less sticky than he feels. 

“Dude. So many things.” Hunk smiles brightly. “But right now I just came to tell you that Coran said we’re all supposed to meet on the bridge at 09:00 hours.” The smile disappears and Hunk twists his hands. “Which, honestly, is kinda worrying. No idea what he’s gonna have us do. Do’ya think it’ll be dangerous?” He makes a face. “Because yesterday was kinda… a lot...and,”

“You’ll be fine Hunk,” Keith sighs, trying to shoo him towards the door. “You’ve been fine this whole time,” 

“You say that,” Hunk says. “You say that like it’s true.” 

“Hunk. Get out of my room.” 

*

At 09:00 hours, Keith meets the other paladins on the bridge. 

He takes his usual spot at Shiro’s side in the line up. Gives him a small good-morning-smile. 

Shiro nods in response. Short, to the point, before he returns his attention to Allura. Shiro is always efficient like that. He crosses his arms across his chest and Keith thinks about his biceps and decides that they are much nicer (and bigger) than he has previously ever realized. 

“Paladins!” Allura claps her hands. “Wonderful to see your bright shining faces so promptly this morning! Thank you for joining me!” 

“Did we have a choice?” Pidge deadpans on Keith’s other side. The princess ignores her. 

“On this auspicious day,” Allura continues, “You all will be taking part, excuse me, you all will have the  _ privilege _ to take part in a certain Altean training regimen. This regimen is one that the previous paladins, my father included, devised to foster a strong bond between the paladins. It is of upmost importance that you take it very seriously.” Her expression becomes stoic. “Coran, if you please.” 

Coran scoots in with what can only be described as a big cabinet on wheels. Its contents are heretofore unknown. 

Keith watches, intent. He wants to be ready for the mission. 

The cabinet rattles open at the press of a concealed button. Coran prances in front of it, modeling the contents within. 

“Huh?” Lance says loudly from somewhere on the other side of the room. “Sorry, Princess, but I don’t get it.” 

Keith doesn’t get it either. He frowns. 

Coran hands what looks like a ginormous squeegee sponge to Pidge. “Number five! Looks like this one’s got your name on it!” 

Pidge accepts it gingerly, pinky fingers raised as she grips it with just her pointer finger and thumbs. She sticks her tongue out in disgust. “What the…?” 

Lance is in the cabinet, pulling out various contents. He has a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. “Soooo…” 

“Oh thank god,” Hunk sighs, collecting an industrial sized spray bottle and a large microfiber cloth. “Cleaning, that I can do.” 

Allura sniffs. “This is an ancient Altean training regimen,” 

Pidge tosses the sponge in her direction. It falls short, smacking the floor of the bridge with a sickening plop. “Yeah, and I’m a yelmore’s uncle.” 

Coran sidles up to Allura’s side. He leans close to whisper (loud enough that anyone can still hear): “Princess. These humans have  _ very _ tiny brains, but they can be surprisingly wiley at times. Might do well to, er, come clean,” 

Allura slouches. “We must do something about the state of this place. The floors are disgusting. There’s five hundred years of dust on the snickleduffers. And the dundleblacket,” 

“Oh no, not the dundleblacket!” Pidge drawls. She rolls her eyes. “If you guys need me, I’ll be in my room,” 

“Paladins,” Shiro clears his throat. 

They all look to him. Pidge stops on her way out. 

“We do live here now. It’s our job to take care of our new home.” Shiro picks up the sponge, does his best to hide a grimace. “Some chores never hurt. And who knows...maybe it’ll be good to get our minds off of things?” 

“Liiiiike?” Lance asks. 

Shiro’s expression darkens. “I don’t know, Lance, maybe the murder of countless innocents at the hands of a malevolent dictator? In a war that spans hundreds of thousands of galaxies and lifetimes? The magnitude of which we cannot even hope to grasp, though we have somehow become responsible for its righteous conclusion?” 

Lance’s thin brows shoot up into his hairline. “Gotcha. Yep.” 

“Shiro is right.” Keith chimes in. “It’s good to keep things tidy.” 

“Like you would know,” Lance sneers, stretching a pair of rubber gloves to snap in Keith’s direction. They hit Keith on the chest (Lance does have good aim). 

“Yeah!” Keith says, hotly, smacking him with the gloves. “I would!” 

“Okay, so stop fighting guys!” Hunk says, rolling up his sleeves. “We have a castle to clean!” 

Keith collects a broom from the cabinet. It takes him a moment to decide which one— why did the Alteans have so many different kinds of brooms? He peers at the bristles and frowns— but eventually selects one that seems to have a very sturdy handle. Now, he’ll just follow Shiro, 

He turns around, but Shiro is gone?

“C’mon, hotshot,” Lance grumbles, hitting the back of Keith’s legs with an already-soggy-mop. “You’re supposed to be with us, I guess.” 

*

It’s not so bad, Keith thinks, cleaning the castle. His pop’s cabin back in the desert had hardwood floors and he swept them like this a lot. No matter what he did, the rich red dust of Arizona clung to his boots; he always tracked it inside after a day of exploring. He’s thinking about that, and searching for Shiro, and finding Shiro, and how the tight coil of emotions that was in his chest then has since seemed to both unravel and also become more confused, when, 

“So.” Lance interrupts his thoughts. He is going behind Keith in the hallway, mopping the floors after Keith clears the majority of the dirt. “What was your damage yesterday?” 

“No damage,” Keith automatically replies. It’s really none of Lance’s business. Or anyone else’s either. 

Hunk sprays one of the floor to ceiling windows and gives it an aggressive shine. “Nope. Pretty sure there was damage. You even missed dinner.” 

“He was locked into a closet with Shiro,” Pidge grins. She’s holding the sponge from before, but it’s tough to say what she’s actually accomplishing with it. “Major damage. K.O.’d” 

“Ooooooh,” Lance says, grinning, like what Pidge said even made sense at all. He stops mopping and leans forward, balancing on the mop. “Gotcha.” 

Keith squats down, collecting the small pile of space dirt and space dust into the space dustpan. “We were tied together,” he mumbles, 

“Kinky,” Lance shoots a couple of fingerguns approvingly, 

“And then I got us free,” Keith says, ignoring him. “No damage.” 

“Huh.” 

“Mmmhmm.” 

“Yep.” 

“Look.” Keith says, staring at each one of them in turn. “It’s normal, alright? Me and Shiro have been together through some things. He’s gotten me out of plenty of situations before. And I’ve helped him a couple of times.” He takes a deep breath. “And I appreciate that a lot, y’know? He’s been there for me in my life in a way that no one else has. Ever. And, okay, so I would be happy to spend time with him no matter what, even if that means getting tied up together by those weird rock aliens. Yeah, the thing in the closet was awkward yesterday, I’ll admit it. And, okay, I didn’t really get what was happening at first. I never catch on to shit like that. Back in ninth grade, when me and Teddy Spencert were in the locker room, he practically had his hand down my gym shorts and I didn’t get what was happening.” 

Keith frowns down into the dustpan, “I mean, I got that his hand was down my shorts, I got that, but it wasn’t until like two weeks later, that I actually got it. Duh. Okay. And so, when Shiro reacted like that, I was  _ surprised _ . And it wasn’t like the Teddy Spencert thing because this time, it was a good kind of surprised. I mean, anybody would be surprised, I think, because, it’s Shiro? It’s Shiro, right, he’s only the most, I dunno, good person there is, probably on the whole planet. In the whole universe. It’s Shiro. And he’s got those arms. And his thighs…” Keith trails off, blinking. “But anyways, so yeah, I was affected by that, who wouldn’t be? Because our relationship is really special to me, but I didn’t realize that I wanted it to be  _ that  _ kind of special, or that I would want it so bad. Physically. But I definitely do, so that’s something I’m going to have to work out, or I am already working out…” Keith pauses, realizing. “I should probably talk to him about it.” 

Keith looks up to see the blue, yellow, and green paladin looking at him with open mouthed surprise. He kind of forgot they were even there at all. 

“Wow,” Pidge comments. She pushes her glasses up her nose. “Wow.” 

“Thank you for sharing that with us, Keith,” Hunk says, warm and kind, 

At the same time that Lance sputters, “Wait, you’re gay?!” 

“Uhhh.” Keith freezes. Tilts his head to the side. “I….gotta go?” 

And then he turns and takes off in the general direction of the bridge. He’s sure to find Shiro sooner or later. 

*

It’s actually later. 

Shiro is not on the bridge or the training deck. He’s not in the barracks or the ship’s library. He’s not with the Black lion in her hanger or in the storage bay. 

“Shiro?” Keith pokes his head around the corner of a hall he’s never been down before. His footsteps echo back down at him from the very peak of the ship’s cathedral ceilings. This must be the more castle-y part of the castleship. 

There’s light spilling into the hall from a doorway not too far off. Keith’s pace quickens. 

The doorway opens to a huge room. It’s a round room, and a good portion of walls are actually windows, giving the dizzying illusion that one could walk right out into open space. A few pieces of furniture— tables and chairs, by the looks of it— are pushed to one side and covered by the alien equivalent of a drop cloth for storage. The rest of the room is all smooth, sparkling floor. A ballroom. 

And Shiro is directly in the middle of it. 

Standing high above the glitzy dancefloor. On a ladder. 

Cleaning one of the numerous, sinfully gaudy chandeliers. Each one has about a gazillion crystals dangling from its arms. 

He has his back to the entrance, and Keith sees him before he notices Keith. He’s cleaning each of the shimmering crystals by hand, quick and methodical, before he moves on to the next. 

Keith tilts his head back, watching Shiro work. His broad shoulders tense with the effort. Biceps on display— the vest is hung on one of the rungs of the ladder, leaving him in just the steel gray undershirt— as he holds his arms up, methodically moving from crystal to crystal. 

His waist is small compared to the width of his chest. He’s leaning forward, hips against the ladder for added support. And from this angle. Shiro’s ass...

Keith licks his lips. 

He might stay like that for a dobash. 

Or two. 

“Shiro,” he calls out. Eventually. Once he recovers his voice. 

Shiro stills. He looks down at the ground behind him. “Keith?” 

Keith raises one hand and suddenly remembers that he’s still carrying around a broom and dustpan. “Hey.” 

“Funny, I didn’t hear you come in.” The slightest frown passes over Shiro’s face. “Are you here to sweep the floor? Coran already mopped.” 

The ladder wobbles. 

Keith has a hand on it, steadying it, in an instant. “You okay, Shiro?” 

Instead of answering, Shiro slides down the ladder like it's a practiced motion he’s done a million times. He arrives on the floor with a little jump and a grin that should be illegal in every galaxy. 

(Keith is hopelessly infatuated. He has no choice but to grin back.) 

“Good thing, I’ve never been scared of heights, huh?” Shiro jokes. There’s a slight sheen over his skin from working under the hot lights. 

“Good thing,” Keith agrees. Shiro is celestial. 

“What are you doing all the way on this side of the castle?” Keith asks when Shiro doesn’t say anything else. 

“Snickleduffers.” Shiro says. 

“What?” 

Shiro points up. “The snickleduffers. They need dusted. Coran and Allura were with me at first but,” his expression becomes one part exasperation and two parts exhaustion, “Clearly they found something more pressing to take care of.” 

“Mm.” Keith nods. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

He’s not sure how to go about telling Shiro what he needs to tell him. It’s not that he’s exactly nervous, it’s just. Words aren’t exactly his thing. 

The silence between them lengthens into something awkward. Keith squints in the general direction of space. Shiro looks over his head at something in the distance. 

“Shiro, I need to talk to you!” Keith blurts, 

At the same time that Shiro asks: “Are your ankles okay?” 

Keith looks down at his ankles. Why wouldn’t they be? Oh, right, the restraints. “Fine,” he shrugs. “You?” 

Shiro grimaces. Keith must make a face of wide-eyed concern because Shiro raises both his arms out in front of him, reassuring. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. My ankles are fine. I’m fine, Keith. It’s just…” he trails off, one hand now on the back of his neck.

Shiro straightens up. He clears his throat, a sure indicator that he’s about about to use his issuing orders voice: 

“Keith. We’ll talk. Tonight. Are you free around 19:00 hours?” 

Blinking, Keith considers what he could possibly be doing that might cause a scheduling conflict. “Yeah. Unless Zarkon attacks or something.” 

Shiro closes his eyes. He seems to be contemplating. He blows out a breath. “Okay. Provided that we’re not engaged in a battle to save the universe, I’ll plan to stop by around then.” He turns back to the ladder and Keith catches, softer, under his breath.  _ “God. My life.”  _

Keith nods. Okay. He can follow that plan. And it probably is a better idea to have this conversation at a time when he’s not holding a broom and dustpan. That checks out. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then, Shiro!” 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my greatest pleasure in this life is making keith as much of a dork as possible. LOL I hope you enjoyed this second part too. 
> 
> okay so how is that """talk""" gonna go though ? (waggles brows)


	3. The De-Briefing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I originally wrote the first chapter (a long time ago, way before I put it on ao3,) I don’t think I imagined the ending being This Much. ahaha, but here we go, its really and honestly just pure smut:

***

Shiro is prompt. 

Following a full day of cleaning the castleship and a late supper (goo, again), Keith answers a brisque rap on his door. At exactly 19:00. 

“Keith.” Shiro is freshly showered, out of the clothes he was wearing earlier and into something that looks much more comfortable. Even though it’s not Shiro’s standard skintight gray undershirt, the soft looking white tee is still stretched tight across his chest, Keith notices. Keith likes Shiro in casual clothes very much. (Come to think of it, he likes him in all clothes. Or, now that he’s really thinking on it, no clothes at all would be good too. Huh.) 

“Care if I come in?” Shiro asks him. His eyebrows lift in a way that Keith doesn’t know how to interpret. 

“Oh yeah. Of course, Shiro,” Keith moves out of the way to usher Shiro in. He doesn’t normally get nervous. He usually just follows his gut— and sure, sometimes he regrets it, who doesn’t, but anyway— on the whole, he acts too fast and feels too strongly to be nervous about shit. He’s nervous now. He’s heard people talk about ‘butterflies in your stomach’ before; they were wrong. Nerves aren’t anything like sweetness and fragility and pretty little bugs. This feels like he’s going one-twenty over the crest of a canyon ridge and he doesn’t know for sure just how far down the drop really is. It’s a weird kind of giddy feeling that if he was going to back out, it’s too late now. 

The door to Keith’s bedroom closes; Shiro takes a breath. And he says: “I owe you an apology.” 

Keith feels his brow furrow. What? He’s already opening his mouth to disagree, but Shiro continues, 

“Yesterday. I could’ve handled things...better. In the moment, but also, afterwards. I—”

Keith doesn’t understand. Afterwards? What? Shiro left to focus on the debrief for the mission. He didn’t do anything wrong. “...You left right away,” 

Shiro nods. “I should have offered some kind of explanation. Not an excuse, but. Something. You deserved that much, at least.” 

Lifting a hand between them, Keith dissents, “It’s not a bad thing to focus on the mission. You had to work. It’s okay, I understand.” 

“Keith. I didn’t do any paperwork last night.” 

Keith nods, jutting out his chin while he considers. Sometimes Shiro goes to the training deck after a mission, or spends time organizing his thoughts and re-centering himself with meditation. That can be important too. He says as much. 

Shiro purses his lips. He sighs. “No,” 

“It’s fine, Shiro,” Keith says with a smile, “Really. I know Allura and everything keeps you on your toes. You probably,” 

“I left so quickly because I was  _ embarrassed _ , Keith!”

Huh? Keith is confused. What? Embarrassed? About what? Keith has known Shiro for years. Shiro has never gotten embarrassed. He’s Shiro! 

“But?” Keith struggles to find words. “You always know what to do? Even back at the garrison? Even now with all the paladin stuff!” He blinks, processing. It’s impossible. Shiro? Embarrassed? 

Shiro’s lips thin. He looks unimpressed. “I’m glad that my appearance exudes professionalism even in the face of debilitating terminal illness and/or interplanetary warfare. That’s great. But yes, Keith. I get embarrassed. I was embarrassed.”

“Why?” 

Shiro shrugs, helpless. “I guess it had something to do with the fact that I’m a young, reasonably healthy gay man and that I had a very obvious boner as a direct result of an attractive guy dry humping me in a closet?” 

Keith processes this. He looks down at his red-and-white paladin socks, frowning, thinking. He looks back up at Shiro, as if seeing him for the first time: 

Shiro is blushing. It’s barely noticeable, except for his ears give it away: they’re bright red. And he’s shuffling in place, broad shoulders almost slouched— normally Shiro has excellent posture. His human hand is gripping the wrist of his prosthetic, body language closed off. He’s looking at the wall behind Keith, not making eye contact. 

He _ is _ embarrassed. 

Huh. 

But  _ why? _

When Keith doesn’t say anything, Shiro sort-of sighs, just the smallest puff of air. And then he says: “Keith….” He seems to steel himself. Stands up taller. “Anyways, I wanted to...I came to apologize. Especially if I made you uncomfortable. You are so much more important to me than...any physical reaction. You’re my best friend. I would hate to damage our relationship because of this.” Shiro gives Keith the smallest, saddest smile. “I’m sorry that I put us in this situation,” 

Keith scoffs. “It was the rock aliens who put us in this situation, Shiro.” 

“Yes, but,” 

“And, wait.” Keith crosses his arms. “Who said that I was uncomfortable?” 

“You avoided me all day today,” Shiro points out. His tone is more somber than accusatory. “Just now, at dinner, you barely looked up from your plate.” 

Keith huffs. Cleaning the castleship was the mission for today, so that’s what Keith did. Avoiding Shiro had nothing to do with it. He’s never avoided Shiro in his life! And wasn’t Keith the one who went to find Shiro while he was dusting the dinklewhatevers? That’s not avoiding! As for dinner, Keith was paying special attention to the food goo because Hunk kept smiling at him across the table and Lance was oogling at him like he was a zoo animal and Pidge kept looking between him and Shiro like she was trying to figure something out. “That was unrelated,” he grumbles. 

“Keith.” Shiro’s tone is more gentle now. “You said earlier that you wanted to talk. I’ve said my piece. Go ahead; I’m happy to listen to whatever you need to say.” 

Keith looks at Shiro. Shiro with the shiny buttons and the easy silences. Shiro who is always there for him, no matter what. If Keith said the word, Shiro would let him forget this ever even happened. Keith knows that he would. 

But. 

Why would Keith do that?

Now that he knows how Shiro looks flustered and aroused. Now that he’s heard Shiro moan out his name. Now that he knows how Shiro feels underneath him. 

He clenches one hand into a fist. Resolve building. There’s that feeling in his gut like he’s about to fly off the edge and doesn’t know for sure how or where he’ll land. 

Keith  _ loves _ that feeling. 

(And wasn’t it Shiro who taught him it in the first place?) 

Keith wets his lips. Asks, “Do you want me?” 

“Keith…” Shiro looks caught off guard. Cautious. “What…” 

“Shiro.” Keith takes a step closer. Into Shiro’s space. Close enough to touch, but not touching. Not yet. Shiro might be responsible. Might be mature. Might be good and kind and clean and sweet. But he’s not cautious. Takashi Shirogane has not gotten to where he is by being  _ cautious _ . 

And neither has Keith. He repeats the question, voice dipping low, eyes locked on Shiro’s: “Do you want me?” 

This close, Keith can hear the shutter of Shiro’s throat as he swallows. He bends forward, leaning down close, close enough that his breath is over Keith’s ear. The exhale is warm; the hand that Shiro places on Keith’s hip is hot. “You already know the answer to that, Keith.” 

Shiro’s other hand— the one the Galra took from him— comes to rest heavy on Keith’s other hip. Keith shivers at the sensation, senses coming alight.

It doesn’t take much force to move Shiro backwards towards Keith’s bed. The mere suggestion of movement from Keith has Shiro backing up, the feel of Keith’s bunk on the back of his legs and he’s collapsing. Sitting on the edge of Keith’s bed. His eyes don’t leave Keith’s face. 

Keith has his hand over Shiro’s, holding it against himself, as he lowers himself to straddle Shiro’s lap. The way they were. Shiro’s hand spasms under Keith’s. 

Keith steadies himself with the other hand, touch light over Shiro’s shoulder, but it’s not necessary, not really. Shiro is holding him. Shiro wouldn’t let him fall. 

Keith is the one who rocks their hips together. 

Shiro’s eyes blink shut and his grip tightens on Keith’s hips. Keith gets to watch— is fascinated by— the way Shiro’s chest and shoulders rise. He breathes in: slow and full. 

So fucking perfect underneath him, Keith thinks. 

Shiro exhales, looking up into Keith’s face. His pupils aren’t as blown as they were before, but there’s an unmistakable hunger there. It colors his voice a shade deeper when he says, “So. I take it. You weren’t uncomfortable?” 

Keith grins. He slides his hips forward, rutting against Shiro. “Guess not,” Keith says. He has a hand on Shiro’s shoulder; he lets it slide to the center of Shiro’s broad back, pushing their bodies flush. Like they were when Keith’s hands were bound that way. Except this is better than that. This is...Keith grinds down, focus intent, already breathing heavy. This is better than anything. Fuck. Keith’s hand curls into Shiro’s shirt, bunching it in his fist as he slots their hips together. He can feel that Shiro is already getting hard. Keith is too. Shiro’s skin is radiating heat, even though the fabric. 

Keith wants to know how Shiro’s skin would feel without it. How hot, how mouthwatering, how  _ good. _ Once the idea occurs to him, there’s nothing that could stop him from acting on it. He has his hands at Shiro’s waist, where the white tee is tucked smartly into his pants. Keith pulls it free, fingertips skimming the bare skin of Shiro’s stomach, his hips, his lower back. 

Shiro draws in a breath. It’s a sharp inhale, and it makes Keith falter. But then Shiro’s gaze finds his again and it’s somehow darker than before. His breath is becoming hurried, almost like he gets during one of their shared workouts, almost a familiar thing. Keith loves sparring with Shiro. But this, this isn’t sparring. This is better than sparring. Shiro lifts his hand from Keith’s hip— big, his hands are so big— dragging it along Keith’s thigh before Shiro removes his white shirt on his own. 

His abs bunch, core muscles contracting as he shifts under Keith, maneuvering the shirt over his head. His normally perfectly styled hair comes out mussed. And then Keith is free to touch, skin hot and muscle tight under his hands, Shiro’s breath on his neck, Shiro’s name on his lips. 

Keith pulls his own black v-neck off as well, a more clumsy version of the practiced motion Shiro displayed. Without the hem of his shirt pooling over his lap, it’s obvious how he’s tenting his jeans. Keith is focused on his lap, on their laps, the way he can see the obvious outline of Shiro’s cock against his own. He grinds his hips down, rubbing them together and Shiro’s grip turns ironclad over his hips, so much so that if Keith were the type to bruise easily, there would definitely be marks. Not that Keith would mind. Shiro groans, head tipping back even as his hips rise to meet Keith’s. 

“Fuck,” Keith likes that noise. He repeats the motion, hands over Shiro’s pectorals, his shoulders, sliding down his chest as Keith raises himself up in Shiro’s lap and back down again. Fuck his jeans are tight. Fuck. 

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice breaks over his name, not in a breathless way but urgent all the same. His strong hands have stayed at Keith’s hips. Holding him. Now one slides to the small of Keith’s back. Now, over his chest, his side, his outer thigh. Catching Keith at the back of his knee, keeping him in place how Shiro wants. The way in which Shiro touches Keith— possessive, in control— is dizzying. One hand, the Galran one, comes rests over Keith’s ass. Keith almost bites through his tongue when Shiro squeezes. Fuck. 

It takes effort to focus on Shiro, to realize that he’s saying something. His gaze finds Keith’s and Keith nods as if to agree with whatever Shiro wants, before he even says it. 

“We’re doing this all wrong.” Shiro tells him, voice hoarse. He tips forward, his lips brush against Keith’s neck. 

Keith spasms at the feeling, hands scrambling over Shiro’s shoulders, leaving little streaks red over his already flushed skin. 

_ “God,” _ Shiro swears, so dark that the word sounds filthy. He mouths over Keith’s neck once more and Keith arches under his touch, “Fuck. Keith. How are you this sensitive?” 

Keith shakes his head, fingers soothing at the marks he made on Shiro’s space-pale skin. He didn’t mean to scratch. It just felt so good. “Shiro,” he pants, thoughts going all swimmy and jumbled as Shiro mouths along his shoulder. Fuck his jeans are so fucking tight. Keith is hard, fuck he’s never been this hard, what the  _ fuck. _ “What do you mean ‘all wrong’?” 

He must be scowling because Shiro gives him an easy smile. He takes one of Keith’s hands in his own, fingers encircling Keith’s wrist with room to spare. And then Shiro flips them. 

The motion is fast enough that Keith doesn’t realize what’s happening until he’s on his back, Shiro over top of him. Shiro’s other hand slides out from where he had it cradling Keith’s head to turn them over. 

Keith looks up at him, Shiro now kneeling between his legs. He’s never felt small—

Shiro doesn’t make him feel that way— but as Shiro settles over him, thighs under Keith’s ass, the difference between them is apparent. Shiro is caging him in, Keith on his back, effectively surrounded. He looks from Shiro’s heady gaze to his heaving chest. Now, the flush is apparent not just on the tips of his ears, but in splotches of red across his skin. Just under his collarbones. Keith bites his lip. 

Keith follows the movement of one of Shiro’s hands with his eyes— he lifts it off the sheets to brush a lock of hair out of Keith’s face. 

“I just meant I’d like to kiss you before I fuck you,” Shiro responds. He doesn’t stumble over the words, but his voice is thick. 

Keith sucks in a breath. He’s never done either. But with Shiro, he wants...everything. That, and more. He doesn’t hesitate a tick longer before surging up and smashing his mouth into Shiro’s. 

“Ackt!” Shiro jerks back as their teeth clash. One hand flies to his mouth, pressing bitten lips, and he sits back slightly on his heels. 

“Shit!” Keith tastes the slightest hint of blood from nicking the inside of his lip. He runs his tongue over his lips. “Sorry, Shiro. I’m— so sorry.” 

Keith’s shoulders rise to his ears and he looks to the side. Shit. He shouldn’t have done that, probably. But when he flicks his glance back to Shiro, he doesn’t look mad. He looks more like how he usually looks, actually. Just Shiro. Warm, and fond, and maybe a little bit amused. When his hand drops from his mouth, there’s a hint of a smile there. Keith’s heart stumbles in his chest. 

“Teach me,” Keith demands. He sits up on his elbows. Watches as Shiro moves close again, over top of him. 

“Ke--Keith.” Shiro wets his lips. “You’ve never?” His voice is breathless, like the idea is a punch to the gut. 

“Never wanted to.” Keith says, honest. He’s not embarrassed. Not with Shiro. 

Shiro swallows. Makes a visible effort to gather his thoughts. “I’m out of practice, myself,” he finally says, hoarse again.

“Then we’ll teach each other,” Keith decides. That’s how it should be anyways. 

Shiro must agree. “Like this,” he instructs in a breath, moving close, ‘til their foreheads are together. He cups Keith’s cheek, hand warm and big. Soft inhale, soft exhale over Keith’s mouth. His eyes are closed. 

The press of Shiro’s lips against his comes slow and sweet. Keith has his hand on Shiro’s neck, the rap of his bounding pulse in time with his own. He closes his eyes too, lost in the feeling. Relaxes back into the bed as Shiro eases them into a more comfortable position. Shiro’s hand moves from Keith’s cheek to his shoulder, holding him steady. Keith parts his mouth, gradually opening under Shiro’s gentle insistence, and  _ oh _ . 

Keith didn’t know it would be like this. Shiro’s arm snakes around his back, lifting Keith’s upper body off the bed, holding him closer even as his mouth works over Keith’s. Open mouthed, tongue and teeth— Shiro bites softly at Keith’s bottom lip and Keith shivers. A whole body shiver that he feels all the way in his  _ toes _ . 

Shiro groans in response, catching Keith on the edge of his mouth. Pressing lips against Keith’s jaw. Hands down Keith’s sides, over Keith’s chest. It leaves Keith breathless. 

“Sensitive,” Shiro murmurs, kissing against Keith’s neck again. 

“Ah,” Keith’s fingertips curl through the short hair at the back of Shiro’s neck, prickly and soft. He lifts his hips, rutting into Shiro’s. “Shiro,” 

Shiro responds: he adjusts his hold on Keith, keeping him tightly in place underneath Shiro, even while his mouth is more insistent, messy, greedy over Keith’s. His cock is obvious now, straining at the fabric of his pants, hard against Keith as Shiro presses him down into the mattress. 

Keith wants more. 

He gets bold, tilting his head back to lick into Shiro’s mouth, one hand curling around Shiro’s bicep, holding him right where flesh meets metal. He shifts, moving to wrap a leg around Shiro, lifting his hips, pushing upwards as Shiro presses down. Squirming for friction in Shiro’s hold. He wants, he wants, 

Shiro unbuttons Keith’s pants without breaking the kiss: mouth hot, trailing a hand down Keith’s chest, pad of his thumb over his nipple, knuckles brushing through the hair on Keith’s stomach until he flicks the button open on Keith’s jeans. Keith gasps over Shiro’s lips as Shiro pushes down Keith’s briefs. He wraps a hand around Keith’s cock. 

“Ah--Shi-ro,” Keith pants, head falling back. For a moment it’s all he can do not to come right away. He squeezes his eyes shut and all he can think is Shiro,  _ Shiro, _

“Shiro,” Keith repeats, opening his eyes to look down. Shiro’s hand is big enough that Keith’s cock all but disappears into his fist as he strokes. 

His breath is hot over Keith’s neck, kisses even hotter against Keith’s skin as he curls over Keith, stroking him off. Fuck, 

Keith’s hands scrabble over Shiro’s chest, uncoordinated in his attempt to mimic Shiro’s maneuver and unbutton Shiro’s pants. Shiro catches on, grinning at Keith’s sour face at being unsuccessful. 

He twists his wrist around Keith, now too light a touch to be anything but teasing. “Something you want, baby?” 

Never one to back down from a challenge, Keith pushes Shiro’s hands out of the way, sitting up to lift his hips to shimmy out of his pants. He sits cross legged on his bed, briefs askew on his hips, dick very hard. Very ready for more. It takes a bit of effort to untangle his legs, but then Keith is tossing his underwear aside. As an afterthought, his socks too. “Yeah.” Keith says, attention now on Shiro. “You. Undressed.” 

Shiro laughs then, a sweet sound that Keith hasn’t heard nearly enough since they began their journey as paladins. The sound of it is good, one of Keith’s favorite sounds. “Can’t argue with that,” Shiro agrees. He stands, undoing his pants before he takes them off and automatically folds them, garrison-uniform-regulation style. Old habits die hard. When he turns, Keith has a view of how strained his cock is in his tight black boxers. The front of the fabric has a noticeable wet spot. 

Then the boxers come off too. 

(Keith was right— Shiro’s cock  _ is _ as handsome as the rest of him. He bites his lip.) 

Seemingly not at all put off by the way Keith is staring, Shiro folds back down onto the bed, welcoming as Keith winds his way back into Shiro’s arms. Keith inhales against his bare skin. Shiro smells so good. It’s heady to be wrapped up in it like he is now. And to know that Shiro feels the same. The hardness, the wet spot, that was from him.  _ Is _ from him. From Keith. He doesn’t mess up this time as he leans in to press his mouth against Shiro’s. Keith tries kissing at his neck like Shiro did to him, and finds that if he uses his teeth— the slightest bite— Shiro groans. 

Fuck, that’s a good sound, too. 

Keith doesn’t get distracted though. He moves his hands over Shiro’s smooth skin, not pausing as he finally gets his hand around Shiro’s cock. 

It’s not like jerking himself off. Seems like it would be, but not really. Shiro is bigger, much bigger, thick and long in his hand. The head of his cock is messy with pre, Keith thumbs over it and watches Shiro twitch. 

Shiro tips forward, all the teasing gone from his face. He groans Keith’s name. He ruts into Keith’s grip. One of his hands finds his way to Keith’s face— still so warm and big against Keith’s cheek— and Shiro kisses him again. 

“This isn’t how I was expecting our conversation to go tonight,” Shiro admits to him, voice strained, nose brushing against Keith’s temple. Keith can feel his mouth curl into a smile. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks. He runs a finger along a thick vein on the underside of Shiro’s cock and watches, fascinated as Shiro— always so calm and in control— shudders. “I have lube.” 

Shiro snorts, not unkind but definitely amused. “Keith!” 

Keith frowns, but it melts into a smile as Shiro blows a raspberry against his neck. “Stop it.” 

Shiro doesn’t stop. He moves over Keith, effectively caging him in again, kissing and mouthing over Keith’s neck and chest. It feels good, but it also tickles. Keith abandons his plan to jerk Shiro off in favor of trying to stave off the attack. “Shiro!” 

“Shi-ro--” his name becomes a moan as Shiro’s cock rubs against Keith’s. Keith makes an effort to hold the noise in, but he can’t. Shiro repeats the motion, his metal hand clenching into a fist on the sheets next to Keith’s head as his hips pivot down. 

“Where is it?” Shiro asks him, a moment later, body taut over Keith’s. 

_ Where is what?  _ Keith almost asks, too focused on Shiro against him to think about anything else. Oh right. The lube. “Top right.” Keith points to the cubby at the head of his bunk. 

Keith gets an eyeful of Shiro’s plush chest as he leans over Keith and stretches to find the bottle. His grin as he retrieves it is all boyish happiness. He sits between Keith’s legs, self satisfied, excited and mischievous, and, as his Pop might say  _ ornery _ — and Keith has the thought that he hasn’t seen Shiro look exactly like that since before he left for Kerberos. 

It makes something sharp swoop in Keith’s chest and he finds he has to close his eyes for a minute. Sling an arm over his face. He’s just laying in bed but his pulse is racing. So fast, like he’s been running. He takes a deep breath. What the hell. 

The feeling of Shiro’s mouth, warm and soft, presses against Keith’s knee. Keith opens his eyes to see Shiro’s concern. 

“Keith?” Shiro rubs his palm, rough, over the top of Keith’s thigh, a simple, grounding touch. “I’m not planning on doing anything you don’t want.” It’s a gentle promise, and as soon as Shiro says it, Keith knows it’s true. Shiro gets more serious— and there he is, the Black paladin again, ever the leader, ever taking control. “In fact, maybe it’s better if we did talk. Before anything else. I don’t want you to—”

Keith huffs. There’s no way that Shiro is going to talk them out of this. He’s been waiting all day. And they’re so close! He reaches upward, grabbing the bottle out of Shiro’s hand. 

“If you—” Whatever Shiro was going to say gets losts as Keith makes short work of getting the lube over both of them. His shoulders drop and his mouth opens and Keith decides that this is an extremely effective maneuver for getting Shiro to come around to his side. He should remember that. 

He wraps a hand around both of their cocks— Shiro’s so big compared to his own that Keith can barely get his hand around them together. With a heavy groan, Shiro adjusts his hips, making the angle better. Slick with lube and pre, their cocks rub together. 

Keith moans, increasing the pace. When he was thinking about Shiro in the shower, he had no idea it would feel this good. He—

“Fuck,” Shiro bites out, maybe just as affected. He wraps his hand around them too and it’s only a couple strokes like that— surrounded by Shiro’s big hand, jerking them both together, 

And Keith is coming. 

He bites down on Shiro’s name, losing coordinations as his hips jolt forward so much so that his dick slips free of Shiro’s grip. But Shiro has him again, holding them together hand working steady until it’s so much, 

Too much, 

“Ah, Shiro, Shi-iro,” 

Shiro bends forward, pressing Keith’s oversensitive cock and his own hard length between them as he catches Keith in a kiss. Keith returns the action, crushing his mouth against Shiro’s, digging half moons into his skin, nipping at his neck until Shiro is moaning his name, hard, so hard where his dick is pressed into Keith’s messy skin. Keith is twisting under him, sensitive, almost to the point of discomfort, 

Shiro must realize. He sits back a little, still between Keith’s legs, his own cock hanging heavy. His mouth is glossy from kissing Keith, eyes unfocused. Breaths uneven. As he moves, Shiro’s cock slips against Keith’s thigh and his hips stutter. His eyes squeeze shut, his abs clench as he sucks in a breath, 

“Like that.” Keith tells him. He likes watching Shiro come apart. Likes being the reason why. 

Shiro makes a noise of not understanding and so Keith demonstrates: he brings his knees together, Shiro’s dick still between his thighs. “Like that,” he says again. 

The groan that breaks from Shiro’s mouth  _ must _ be loud enough to be heard outside Keith’s room in the rest of the paladin barracks, but neither of them have the presence of mind to realize it. “Keith,” he says, “Fuck,” 

Keith nods, happy to follow Shiro’s wordless instructions as he moves Keith the way he wants. He adjusts his position and has Keith hold his legs together, his ankles at Shiro’s right shoulder. Shiro runs a hand down his leg, kissing his calf where the dark hair is longer, thumb affectionate over the tickly place at the back of Keith’s knee, palm hard over the sparser hair on Keith’s pale thighs. 

“Your legs,” Shiro says, voice thick.  _ “God, _ ” He lifts his eyes to Keith’s, gaze dark. “Is this okay?” Without waiting for an answer, “Keith. Stay still.”

“Yessir,” Keith says, 

And Shiro’s hips slap the back of Keith’s thighs as he fucks between them. Keith can see the head of Shiro’s cock appearing and disappearing between his thighs as he thrusts. Hard enough to make Keith’s dick bounce between his legs in time. Lube is dripping down and it should be unpleasant, but Keith is too caught in the image of Shiro above him to notice. 

He’s panting, mouth open, grip tight over Keith’s knees, holding him in place as he uses him. Shiro’s hair is mussed and his brows are pulled together, eyes closed, and his handsome, square jaw is loose, mouth slack with pleasure. 

Keith is so caught there— the realization that Shiro undone like this is the only thing he wants to see, forever— that he doesn’t even realize that Shiro is coming until he feels hot cum splatter over his skin. 

“Keith,” Shiro groans, leaning forward as his hips staccato to a halt. Keith is bent nearly in two, but he’s always been flexible and doesn’t really mind. He says something that Keith doesn’t catch over his own pulse hammering in his ears. 

He’s thinking more about how hot it is that Shiro came so hard that now he’s slumped over, broad shoulders heaving as he catches his breath. Shiro releases his hold on Keith’s legs, and Keith lets his thighs drop open so that he can see the mess for himself. 

Lube and Shiro’s cum and his own drying release. Keith shivers. He doesn’t know why he likes it all together, only that he does. He got half hard again watching Shiro. Running his fingers through the evidence feels good. 

Keith sighs out, back against the sheets, fingers now coated in the mess they made together. He touches where his thighs are still hot with friction, teases at his balls. Smears the cum and lube over his hole. Presses a finger in. 

The sound of Shiro’s throat shuttering closed as he swallows is loud in the otherwise silent room. Keith opens his eyes. 

Shiro is watching him. “Keith.” He says, “You,” 

Keith adds another finger and Shiro stops mid-thought. He swallows. Keith watches his adam’s apple bob. 

“You,” 

Keith shrugs, “I stretched myself last night.” At the sight of the dark lust that shifts over Shiro’s face, he adds, “Was thinking about you,” 

There’s a momentary flash of light as Shiro’s galran arm activates and then the smooth slide of metal clicking back into place as goes dormant again a split second later. Keith blinks away the spots in his vision from the brightness, trying to focus on Shiro and how his arm is clenched into a fist. Tight, by the looks of it. 

Shiro swallows again, tension deep in his shoulders. 

“Shiro?” Keith asks. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Shiro says, half guttural, half laughing disbelief. 

“I want—”

“Baby,” 

Warmth pools in Keith’s gut, 

Shiro’s hand wraps around his wrist, gently pulling it free. He presses Keith’s messy fingers to his lips. “Baby, I’ll give you what you want.” 

And Keith isn’t far, but Shiro still wraps hands around his hips and pulls him towards Shiro on the bed. He grins at Keith. “I hope you thought about this too,” he says. And he takes Keith into his mouth. 

Keith gasps, hips lifting off the sheets before Shiro holds him in place. “Ah! Shit, Shi--” 

Shiro’s mouth is hot and wet and good and fuck, shit, holy hell, Keith wheezes out expletitive after expletive. When it’s not his own fingers, but Shiro’s much thicker ones, pressing inside him, Keith clenches his teeth to hold in a scream. Fuck! Shiro pets along the divot of Keith’s hip, as if soothing. 

“Good?” Shiro asks him, pulling off of Keith’s dick. 

Fuck.  _ He doesn’t know,  _ Keith thinks. Shiro can’t even know how fucking perfect he looks, all of Keith’s cock in his mouth, cheeks working as he sucks, forelock dropped in his face. The way his eyes flick to Keith’s. The feeling of his fingers as he fingers Keith open, pressing deep, playing at his rim— careful but confident with Keith’s body like it’s his to have. 

It is, Keith thinks, fingers working through Shiro’s hair. It’s finer, softer than his own thick mop. Shiro presses inside and Keith pulls, teeth caught on his lip, trying not to come. 

He notices that Shiro is now rocking against the bed, already getting hard again too. Shiro pulls off of Keith’s cock, saliva stringing between his mouth and Keith’s tip before he breaks the strand, face dipping to mouth at Keith’s balls as his big hand pumps around Keith’s wet cock. 

“Shiro!!” 

Keith can feel him smile, lips pulling against his skin. Shiro kisses at his inner thighs, thumb gentle over the crest of Keith’s hip. He sucks at a freckle below Keith’s navel, spreading his fingers deep inside. 

Keith’s toes curl and the sheets strain against ripping under his grip. Vaguely he can hear Shiro still marveling about him being sensitive— but who wouldn’t be, when Shiro is alternating between swallowing his around his cock and kissing sweet enough that his eyelashes tickle Keith’s bare skin. 

“Shiro— I want, can you, please—” Frustrated at being so overwhelmed, Keith tosses his head back on the bed. “Fuck!” 

There’s something like relief and disappointment combined when Shiro pulls his fingers out. “I’d tell you to be patient, Keith, but.” His voice is breathy, all disconnected. “Fuck,” he echoes. 

Keith feels what can only be the head of Shiro’s cock against his entrance. He sucks in a breath. 

“Keith.” Shiro is commanding. “Look at me.” 

Keith turns his head, blinking his vision clear. Shiro tells him to exhale, so he does. His cock is so hard again, flat against his stomach, glossy with Shiro’s mouth, leaking down his side. He wants, 

As his lungs empty, Shiro eases in slowly. Keith watches him, skin sheeny with sweat from the effort. Shiro’s grip is rough as he finds Keith’s hand and squeezes. And then there’s only Shiro and the grounded feeling of how their bodies fit together. For some reason, it’s that feeling that makes Keith feel his mouth pull into a grin. He’s giddy with the feeling of having Shiro like this. 

Shiro begins to move, a slow roll of his hips as he pulls out and pushes back in. He swears, adjusting the angle. Keith can see the exact moment that Shiro catches sight of his expression. There’s a split second of confusion— Shiro’s brow raises— maybe disbelief, but then Shiro is gathering him up, pulling Keith into his chest as he fucks him. He chuckles into Keith’s neck, disbelief now amusement, “Trust me, I’m right there with you.” 

“Shiro,” Keith sighs, arching as Shiro kisses his neck, fucks him deep and hard. Shiro fills him so good, 

Shiro’s amusement becomes concentration, half laugh turning into bitten swear as he increases his pace. His breath is hot over Keith’s skin, mouth and teeth sharp, grip hard. Keith lifts his hips to meet Shiro’s thrusts, his body thrumming with effort and pleasure both. Shiro wraps a hand around his cock and pumps Keith in time with his hips— bites his tongue in a smile when Keith shouts his name. Keith can feel Shiro’s laugh shudder through them both. 

It’s 

It’s so good. 

With a grunt, Keith directs that Shiro stop. Shiro pulls out, delight still evident in his eyes. He curls his hand around his cock, watching as Keith shifts underneath him, tugging lazy and comfortable while they change position. “Baby,” 

“Shiro, sit back,” Keith says. He has an idea. He doesn’t wait for Shiro to listen, pushing him the way he wants him. Shiro indulges Keith, smiling and kissing along his chest, his cheeks, catching his hand and placing a tender kiss right on the circle of Keith’s wrist where the veins crisscross in their complicated pattern. 

The joking falls away from his face as Keith settles into his lap. Keith has pushed him so that his back is against the wall. The paladin bunks are small, recessed into the wall, but there’s room enough for this. His knees are on either side of Shiro’s hips, spread wide. 

The way they were. 

“Fuck,” Shiro’s head hits the alien paneling with a thump. His hands settle heavy on Keith’s waist. His cock bobs between them as he shifts. 

Keith shakes his head. He leans in, catching Shiro’s mouth in a filthy kiss— uncoordinated and messy— dragging one hand from the thick cords of Shiro’s neck to his bicep, his forearm. He directs so that Shiro takes the hand off from Keith’s hip and places it behind his own back. 

The way they were. 

“Oh,” the realization drops garbled from Shiro’s mouth. 

Keith hardly notices it. He’s completely and utterly focused on getting himself seated on Shiro’s cock. This is what he really wants. What they both wanted. 

It’s thick in his hand as he reaches behind him, lifting his hips. His own cock presses into Shiro’s sternum as he lines up the cockhead with his entrance. He slides down and they both moan at the feeling. 

Shiro is perfection underneath him— flushed and bitten and restrained power and heady smell. Keith fucks himself on Shiro’s cock and watches the way his chest heaves and the column of Shiro’s neck works as he swallows. Keith plants a hand on both of Shiro’s broad shoulders and does his best to mirror the pace that Shiro taught him just moments prior. 

“Look at you,” Shiro gets out, heavy, through a smile. “God. Fuck, Keith.” Keith can see him tense as he fights not to move his hands from their bound position. 

His thighs are burning with the effort, but Keith is thinking more about how close he is. He brushes hair out of his eyes, impatient. He wants to be able to see Shiro. “I—” Keith tosses his head. He’s so close. “Shiro,” Keith whines, uncoordinated, so fucking close, “Feels good,” 

“Baby,” Shiro says, shucking off imaginary restraints, and holding Keith down on his cock, 

Keith comes, 

The feeling of Shiro underneath him, hands heavy as they encircle his waist, 

The sound of Shiro moaning close to his ear, 

The way he looks as he finishes, pleasure pulling his features— bitten lips falling open, strong jaw slack, heavy brows finely arched— into an expression that Keith wants to print indelible on his memory. 

The warm feeling of being full. 

The slowing pound of Keith’s pulse as he goes lax in Shiro’s arms, against his chest. His skin is sticky, but when his arms encircle Keith it feels like it always has. Right. 

Keith lets his eyes fall shut. He feels a press at the top of his head— Shiro’s lips just where his widow’s peak and his cowlick meet to prevent his hair from ever laying flat. The two of them shuffle against the sheets, Shiro pulling out of him with an apologetic grunt. 

The bed feels cool against Keith’s skin. He can feel Shiro breathing next to him. 

It might be some time later when Keith opens his eyes again. He turns his head to see Shiro looking at him. The gentle smile he gives Keith reaches all the way to his eyes. 

The flush isn’t gone from his face. It makes the white scar over his nose stand out. It’s so pretty. Keith scoots even closer in the bed, reaching to trace the edge of it with his finger. It feels smooth to the touch. Kinda surprising. 

_ I love you, _ he thinks, when Shiro’s eyes cross and he purses his lips to kiss Keith’s straying fingers. The thought is not surprising at all. 

Shiro clears his throat. “So.” 

Keith blinks at him. 

“Good talk,” Shiro starts out. 

Keith bursts into a laugh. Shiro’s fingers tickle along his hips to his lower back, pulling him close. 

“Really Keith.” Shiro continues, very serious. The words rumble in his chest when Keith is this close, pressed up against him. “One of the better talks I’ve had.” 

“We should thank the rock planet aliens,” Keith jokes, playing along with him. 

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far,” Shiro says, dry and dark. 

Keith privately agrees; they did take his knife afterall. But then they gave it back. So. Hm. He muses on this for awhile before remembering something more important: “Will you call me baby all the time now?” 

Shiro makes a garbled noise—

“Shiro?” Keith pulls away, looking at his face. 

Completely flushed— all the way to the bright red tips of his ears— Shiro waves a hand. He hacks out another cough, sitting up on one elbow. “M’fine-Ke-I’m fine.” 

There’s a few hydration packs in Keith’s emergency stash of rations, he retrieves one of these and sees to it that Shiro takes a few sips. He also gives Shiro two solid smacks to the back, because that always seems to help. Sort of. 

“Choking on air, great,” Shiro says, after he’s regained his breath. “Everyday, a new and exciting way to die. Asphyxiation in space sounds much more—”

“Shiro.” Keith can tell when Shiro is trying to avoid a question. 

“I—” Shiro takes a deep breath. “I— Keith. Do you want me to?” 

“Yes.” 

The answer leaves Keith’s mouth before he has time to consider it. Sometime it seems that’s how Keith has lived most of his life: act first, consider later. But it works for him. He repeats his answer, and knows that it’s true. “Yeah, Shiro. Of course.” 

_ “God.” _ Shiro’s smile is genuine before he ducks his face against Keith’s shoulder. “Keith. Baby.” 

_ Huh, _ Keith thinks, holding Shiro tight.  _ He’s embarrassed again. _ He never knew. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things I meant to do with this fic  
> -keith and shiro tied together hell yeah  
> -indulging my headcanon that Keith wears white briefs because, uh, he’s my favorite dweeb and I love everything about that, unfortunately  
> -shiro being bashful 
> 
> things I did not mean to do with this fic  
> -make it over 15k

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished a very long srs business kinda fic and wanted to refresh with something silly and fun. hope you liked! 
> 
> if you, like me, are a connoisseur of fine keiths, then [please feel free](https://twitter.com/jacqulinetan)


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